


Light Has Mass

by Amberdreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, after Stull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberdreams/pseuds/Amberdreams
Summary: Dean leaves Stull cemetery and drives





	Light Has Mass

Kansas was so flat, featureless, all open skies and a vastness that could swallow you whole.

He’d driven miles along a road so straight and empty it hadn’t mattered that his eyes saw nothing of the blacktop as it stretched out ahead of him without a promise of a future.

After a while, he didn’t know how long (nor did he care), he became aware that the scenery had changed to a gentler, more wooded aspect, the interstate now bordered by low rising hills.

It was late in the day. He couldn’t sum up the energy to look at his watch; what was the point? Whatever the time was, this day had been too long. It had already been stretched beyond bearing when he’d left that cemetery alone, the gaping hole in the ground all filled in and not even visible as a scar in the ground.

He thought he might be in Illinois. Or maybe the borderlands of Indiana. And that thought was enough to get his heart beating uncomfortably fast. Fear of reaching his destination, combined with an immeasurable grief made for a stomach-churning mixture that had him craving for a whiskey or three.

There was a sign coming up, indicating a turn off to some Podunk town or other, it didn’t really matter. A kind of panic clutched at his chest and he swung the car off the interstate and followed the minor road back on himself as it headed up into the hills up towards some local beauty spot. Another sharp turn and he was on an earthen track, the undercarriage of the old car being brushed by the grass. Her chassis creaked in protest, making him wince.

He didn’t go far; maybe a mile or so up the track, the setting sun cutting low across his face, blinding him worse than the unshed tears filling his eyes. He stopped the car, turned off the engine.

It was too silent. The absence of the low rumble of the old car’s V8 was a hole in the air, forming a vacuum around his ears. He opened the car door, half-climbed, half-tumbled out onto his hands and knees as the world came rushing back in.

He fisted his hands into the grass, smelling earth and green and life. Each sensation stabbed right through him, reminders of loss – the sharp edges of leaves biting into his palms, the mingled scents echoes of those he’d left behind in Stull Cemetery when, battered to hell and back, he’d slumped on his knees knowing that his brother had gone forever, and that he would not be far behind.

Then even the cold comfort of imminent death had been taken away by the touch of an angel, and here he was, fighting against living the life Sam had wanted for him. The normal life that Sam had made him promise he would go and find once Sam was gone.

Not fair. Not right. How could he live in a world that no longer had his brother in it?

It was hard to breathe. His chest heaved and laboured and still he refused to allow himself the annealing balm of tears.

A breeze rustled the leaves of the small coppice of beech trees that nestled on the slope of the valley, and set the telegraph wires thrumming. Harp strings for the wind. Overhead, a lark trilled, a joyous sound.

He lifted his head and saw the driftwood-pale wood of the old picnic bench, worn by the weather and by years of families sitting there to enjoy the view that he was ignoring.

He rose to his feet. Hesitantly, he slid himself into the seat facing the setting sun so that his vision was reduced to pure light. Because west was where he left/lost Sam, and though it was always unspoken, even the douchiest of Heaven’s angels knew Sam was Dean’s sun.

“So.” He said, sending his words into the light. “I’m nearly in Cicero, like you asked. Going to see if Lisa and Ben will take me in, give me normal.”

He paused, but there was no reply; of course there wasn’t. But the touch of the sun was warm on his new-made cheeks. And maybe there was some comfort in that.

  
(A replacement picture - thanks to Photobucket messing this up!)

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old ficlet I had forgotten to post here, written back in 2012 for the picture prompt Challenge #12 in **writerverse**


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